An Fharraige

Before breakfast I walked to the Sea. It was just out the guesthouse and down the hill past the cemetery and the pasture full of cows and lush, green grass. The rock wall opening had a slanted walkway that led to the sand.

Grass and flowers, then large strands and piles of kelp lay between me and the gently lapping waves. The tides on Árainn or Inis Mor, Ireland are 18 feet daily so there are great spans of beach covered every day with the clear, cold Atlantic Ocean.

I took off my boots and socks and rolled up my pants. I wanted nothing separating my toes and the sea. It was shocking how cold the water was but admittedly, it felt amazing on feet that rarely are confined by shoes and had been in boots for days. But 57 degree water for a tropical gal? Someone saw people swimming the day before but to be clear, it wasn’t me.

The soft texture of the sand–like flour–and the cold water was such a contrast. The sensory differences made my body rejoice. Laughter and song erupted as I played along the shore.

The colors of softest gray to creamy white were mixed in large ripples in the sand and their intertwining dance was so lovely it brought tears. Muted, mixed well yet distinctly different colors.

Perhaps our relationship with Spirit is like that. So much the same….One…yet the colors of our distinct beingness give way to patterns of such beauty.

When I feel lonely I will recall those sands and know that God and all of creation form such a lovely mosaic of creative amazement. Individually unique yet part of the same matter that is stars, sand and brown eyes through which I behold the beauty.

An Fharraige….The Sea.